


Leap Of Faith

by Flutiebear



Series: Walk Beside Me [8]
Category: Dragon Quest Series, Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Big Speeches, Confrontations, Fate & Destiny, Finishing Erik Suffers 2019 With A Bang, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Important Things Are Happening, Just Let Them Be Happy For Like Five Minutes GOD, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Pep talks, Screw Destiny, Two Dumbasses Finally Touch Dicks, Two Thousand Suffer Teen, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:42:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21734701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flutiebear/pseuds/Flutiebear
Summary: "Now that you're almost to Yggdrasil, you can sense something is about to happen, something big; the foreboding of it roils around in your gut like one of Rab's dreaded sandwiches. You want to be excited about what happens next—it's the World Tree, after all; how many people on Erdrea can say they've seen it up close?—but you're so mixed up right now, not just about Terran, but about everything; and you just can't shake the feeling that it's all about to go to hell; that you're going to lose everything all over again; that you've waited too long to——Towhat, exactly?"In Arboria and the First Forest, Erik confronts his destiny, and his choices, and his feelings, and Terran.
Relationships: Camus | Erik/Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI)
Series: Walk Beside Me [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1241645
Comments: 29
Kudos: 102





	Leap Of Faith

**Author's Note:**

> This is it! I'm so excited to share this with you; it feels like I've been writing this installment forever, even though it's really only been a couple of weeks. 
> 
> Anyway, this picks up right where The Gambler's Fallacy left off. If you haven't read that one yet, you might want to before checking this one out. Also, in case there's any confusion over it, this takes place solidly in Act 1.
> 
> Oh, and, just in case you missed the tags, things do get saucy in this one. Fair warning!

A few days of no particular consequence pass.

You scale mountains, fight monsters, find treasure. Nothing occurs anywhere near as absurd or momentous as the soft, eager press of Terran's lips on yours—a memory that consumes your every waking moment, and more than a few of your slumbering ones besides.

You've revisited that kiss in your head so many times that it has started to feel more like dream than memory, a hallucination of ferocious longing that you can no longer escape and wouldn't even want to, even if you could. All it takes is you closing your eyes to summon every sensation: To taste that sticky peach-sweet on his lips; to feel his nails scraping lightly on your scalp.

Sweet Yggdrasil, it's driving you _crazy._ Terran is so close—yet you can't do anything, you can't even _say_ anything, because every time you even get within five feet of him, one or another of your companions pops out of the shadows to ask about horses or hardtack or simply to give you the fisheye, _Veronica._

"We're almost to Arboria. Don't you go mucking things up now," she warns, her whisper loud enough to carry across the campsite and probably most of Erdrea, too. Sometimes, you secretly love how much she reminds you of Mia. Not right now, though.

"I dunno what you mean," you grumble.

"Don't play dumb with _me_." She puts her tiny fists on her hips. "He's the _Luminary,_ you know."

You gasp in mock horror. "Really? I had no idea."

"Meaning, he has a job to do. A _destiny._ And I'm not going to let you, or Mordegon, or anybody else with his knickers in a twist get in the way of fulfilling it."

"Relax, Veronica. Me and my knickers have no intention of distracting Terran from his all-important destiny," you say without any trace of bitterness whatsoever.

"You'd better not. He needs now to focus on the bigger picture, not moon after _you._ Honestly _,_ Erik." Her sigh sizzles your skin as surely as one of her spells. "It's not like you two didn't have _ample_ opportunity over the past several months to get this nonsense between you sorted."

Your eyes pop. "Keep it down, will you?"

You shoot a quick look across the camp, to where Terran is untacking Lulubelle and chatting with Jade. It doesn't look like he has heard Veronica, though. Thank Yggdrasil for small miracles.

As if he feels the weight of your gaze upon him, Terran turns and smiles at you, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks like errant butterflies. You gulp.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," snaps Veronica, her sharp voice arresting your attention back from Terran's cheekbones. "What's wrong? Are you worried that the _savior of Erdrea_ might overhear how utterly and irredeemably _thick_ you are?"

"Shut up _,_ " you growl.

She does not, however, shut up. She does the opposite of that. "Thick, thick, _thick._ You both are. I can't believe you two didn't settle this after the Hekswood. Or, for that matter, Octagonia." She rolls her eyes so hard she's probably pulled something.

"I said, shut _up_."

"Anybody with _eyes_ can see how totally gone you are for each other. You two are practically lighting up signal beacons over it. So I don't know why you had to wait until _now,_ when we're so close to Yggdrasil, to—"

"Dammit, Veronica!" you snap so fiercely that she shrinks back. "Why can't you ever just leave well enough alone?"

Veronica gawps at you, stunned. You sort of feel guilty about that, but at least she's not talking anymore. Without looking at her or—Yggdrasil help you—Terran, you stalk over to your pack and make a big show of taking out your knives and whetstone.

Then you sigh.

_Dammit._ She's right; you know she's right. You've let this go on far too long. You've wasted months pining, when you could have been kissing, or doing more than kissing; and it's best you don't think too much about _that_ , lest you lose your grip on the knife and also your thumb.

What else could you do, though? It's not like you knew—

_I don't want to fuck anybody else._

You shake your head. No, you didn't _really_ know.

_You are mine, Erik. Mine. Mine._

Okay, _fine,_ maybe you had a hunch, yet you still did nothing about it, because deep down, you're just a big ninny, aren't you? You ran from your sister, and now you ran from this, and you'll just keep on running and running, because that's what you do when you butt up against something that truly scares you: You take the coward's way out.

Except that one time you jumped off a cliff.

But that was different. And anyway, you don't see any waterfalls around _here_.

You set aside one dagger and take out another. You haven't used this particular one in months, and it's gone dull around the edges. You decide to sharpen it anyway, because you need to stay busy, because you can never be too prepared.

The truth is, now that you're almost to Yggdrasil, you can sense something is about to happen, something _big;_ the foreboding of it roils around in your gut like one of Rab's dreaded sandwiches. You want to be excited about what happens next—it's the World Tree, after all; how many people on Erdrea can say they've seen it up close?—but you're so mixed up right now, not just about Terran, but about everything; and you just can't shake the feeling that it's all about to go to hell; that you're going to lose everything all over again; that you've waited too long to—

—To what, exactly? Kissing or no kissing, Terran knows where you stand. He knows you've got his back. You might run from your feelings, but you'd never run from _him._

" _Never_ ," you mutter, letting the sharp slide of the whetstone swallow your voice.

You wonder if Terran is as torn up right now as you are. Probably not. The Luminary is in much more control of his emotions—he has to be, for the sake of Erdrea—and he's always been careful to keep his true feelings and desires well-leashed.

You, on the other hand, are reckless and feral, just one step away from tearing Terran's clothes off or falling to pieces or maybe both at the same time. You can take the starving kid out of the Snaerfelt, but not the Snaerfelt out of the kid.

Or, apparently, the starvation.

Veronica's right. You're thick, thick as molasses, thick as tar. Thick as—a thick thing. Ah, fuck it; you're no good with metaphors. All you're good for is stabbing things and finding treasure at the worst times and the worst places, and Terran is the most inappropriate treasure you've landed on yet.

This, right here, _this_ is why nobody ever wants to fuck a messiah, you think glumly.

Nobody, that is, except you.

***

Nobody except you—and _Serenica_ , you're reminded the moment you enter Arboria. For looming over Serena and Veronica's hometown is a big, honking statue of the Sage of Heroes, carved right into the face of the mountain. Serenica's open arms and placid expression weigh down upon you, boring deep into your soul, as if to take you by the shoulders and say, sternly, _Hands off, bucko._

Scowling, you fight the urge to shout: _Cool it, lady. You had your turn._

Unfortunately, the Arborians seem to be firmly Team Serenica. They can't shut up about past lives and new beginnings and, oh, did you happen to know that Serena and Veronica are the reincarnations of the previous Luminary's beautiful, wise, faithful, and did we mention _beautiful_ , lover?

Thankfully, the twins both seem pretty embarrassed by all the wink-wink-nudge-nudge—especially Serena, who is most in the position to act upon it but seems the least inclined, bless her. Even still, you're profoundly uncomfortable having to listen to all these toga-clad tea-guzzlers go on and on and _on_ about Erdwin and Serenica's perfect love, as if you weren't standing _right here._

You should take Terran to the town square and stick your tongue down his throat. Maybe _that_ would finally shut these hicks up.

Of course, to do that, first you'd need to find Terran again, and after the fifth conversation in a row about the unquenchable flame of Serenica's ardor, you couldn't take it anymore and you wandered off, desperate for escape.

Unfortunately, though, you've now lost track of your best friend. 

"I thought I saw him go up there," Jade says outside the weapons shop. She nods at a giant staircase, at the top of which sits a columned temple that looks indistinguishable from all the other columned temples in this stupid town. "And," her tone grows weighty with import, "I think he's alone _._ "

"Um." You aren't sure how or even whether to acknowledge what Jade might be implying. "That's nice?"

"Och, go on, laddie," says Rab at her side. "Ye won't get a better chance before it's all done and through."

Scoffing, you cross your arms. You _know_ Rab's baiting you; you know you shouldn't press, if for no other reason than it's _Rab,_ and you're still reeling from the last time he decided to give you helpful advice. To this day, you still can't bear to so much as look at a melon cart.

But Yggdrasil help you, the question comes out of your mouth anyway: "Chance for what?"

"A proper chinwag, of course." He exchanges a knowing glance with Jade. "Ye two've a lot to talk about, I'd wager."

"I'm not sure _talking_ is what the occasion requires," she muses.

Rab snickers. "Don't spook the poor boy now."

Your eyes narrow, even as the back of your neck heats up. "Whatever joke you two are on about, it's _not_ funny."

"Yes, it is," says Jade.

"There, there, laddie." Rab swallows the rest of his laughter, but he can't quite stop his eyes from creasing into half-moons, anyway. "Don't get upset. It's alright. We're behind ye. The both of ye."

You sigh in frustration. Why couldn't Terran's _other_ grandfather have been your companion, the one who liked fishing and keeping his trap shut? "Just mind your own business, grandpa." 

Rab shrugs off the veiled threat in your tone, somehow appearing even more delighted than before. "An' why should I do a thing like that? He's me grandson."

"And _my_ little brother. So, you know—" Eyes sparkling with barely concealed amusement, Jade lifts up one curled fist. "—Hurt him and die."

"But—I—he— _Argh_!" Exasperated and more than a little terrified by all that's being said _out loud_ right now, and by whom, you throw up your hands and walk away, ascending the stairs behind you as fast as you can. You can hear them still giggling, but it's best you beat a hasty retreat now, before Sylv—or worse, _Serena—_ pops out of the forest to chime in with their own helpful encouragements.

You shudder to think what advice those two would come up with. Something about the best sexual positions, probably, or their favorite types of lube.

That said… maybe Jade and Rab make a good point, as much as you hate to admit it. If Terran's truly alone right now, then maybe it's a good time for you to quit dicking around and just… _talk_ to him. It doesn't have to be a big thing. Just tell him what's on your mind. That's a thing that friends do, right? Especially friends who kiss each other, and maybe would like to continue kissing, and maybe even do more than kissing. (A lot more.)

Who cares if you're going to Yggdrasil soon? The truth is, it's just one more step in your journey together. Not an ending, but a waypoint. So, really, there's no reason _not_ to go talk to him now.

And the sooner you do, you remind yourself, the sooner you might be able to get back to the kissing.

Your heart begins to pound as if you were in a foot race. Instinctively, you look behind you, toward the gates of Arboria—the exit—and beyond.

No. No more running, you tell yourself.

The temple Jade mentioned is easy to find. Still, you take your time getting there, running your hands through your hair, counting to ten, reciting the names of the Northern constellations. Anything you can think of in order to regain your calm before joining up with Terran again. After all, if you're going to do this—if you're really planning to… confess _… things_ —well, you'd better be thinking clearly first.

When you've composed yourself, you step through the door, which slams heavily behind you.

Stillness settles.

As your eyes to adjust to the dim light, the interior of the temple resolves into soaring ceilings and imposing marble statues. Candles flicker, offering ambiance if not much illumination, and on the walls hang four enormous paintings, though you're too far away from them to make out any details.

Terran is indeed within. And, as Jade had said, he is alone.

He stares up at one of the paintings, his back to you. He didn't even turn when the door closed. You smirk. _Dumbass_. You could have been anybody. You could have been Hendrik, even; or Jasper. Maybe you should pounce on him right now, just to prove the point.

You don't, though.

Because something about all this feels… _off._

You look more closely at Terran's still figure, half-swallowed in shadow. He has removed his battle plate, and the long line of his body reminds you of a tree in winter, its bare and skeletal fingers still reaching to the sky in search of sunlight. The little hairs on your forearms stand at attention.

"Hey there," you say, amazed at how your voice resonates throughout the room. "Looking for more walls to deface?"

The noise Terran makes isn't a laugh, and it isn't an acknowledgement; it's a hollow noise, an echo better defined by what it isn't than what it is.

All thoughts of kissing Terran fly right out of your mind, replaced by concern for your partner and friend. "You okay, man?"

He shrugs. Another non-answer.

You approach, pulled forward by your own uneasiness. But Terran's pensive gaze remains upward. Curious, you look at the painting which has him so transfixed—then suck in a sharp breath.

" _Yikes_." You shudder. "I don't recall burning trees in any of the stories I heard about the Age of Heroes. Maybe I need to brush up on my classics."

"I asked Father Benedictus about this one." Terran's voice is hushed, raw, like he hasn't used it in a long time. He still won't look at you. "He didn't have much to say about it, though."

You scrutinize the painting some more. There really are an alarming number of flames consuming the World Tree, and even more ravaging the landscape below. It's like the whole canvas is just scorched earth and holocaust.

Guts twisting, you read aloud the plaque beneath the painting: "'The Fall. Almighty Yggdrasil, whose holy heart is the source of all life, was laid low by the Dark One.'" You frown at the stone carving, then at the painting, then at Terran. "What the heck does _that_ mean?"

Terran chews on the inside of his cheek. "I don't know."

"Do you think that really happened? Did the World Tree really burn up?"

"I don't know."

"You'd think somebody would have mentioned it, if it did."

"Someone _did_." Terran gestures at the painting. "Right there."

The furrows in your brow deepen. "I guess, but—I dunno, man. It just feels weird. Wrong, you know? The whole idea gives me the creeps." You shake your head, as if you could so easily dispel the dread wriggling up your spine. "Maybe it's a metaphor. Or a prophecy."

You regret the word as soon as it's out of your mouth, but it's too late. The effect it has on Terran is profound: His shoulders set, his jaw hardens; his whole demeanor becomes one of grim determination. But his eyes—oh, his _eyes._ The light in them dims, a candle on the verge of blowing out.

"Or a metaphor," you repeat hastily.

He scoffs, humorless. "A metaphor for what?"

"Got me. I'm no poet." Even still, you rack your brain for something, anything reassuring, because that haunted, lost expression on Terran's face terrifies you. "Maybe it means that it only seemed like the world was on fire, because the Dark One was so bad, or something."

His throat bobs up and down. "Maybe."

"Hey. _Hey._ " Finally, he looks at you straight on, and you're glad for it, but also at the same time you almost wish he hadn't. You long to gather him in your arms and cradle him to your chest, as you used to when Mia was young and skinned her knees. That would be weird, though, or maybe it wouldn't; in any case, now isn't the time to find out, so you keep your hands at your sides. "It's just a stupid story, that's all. Even if it did happen—which it didn't—that doesn't mean it's going to happen _now_."

"But," he mumbles, "maybe it will."

"Or maybe it _won't._ Seriously, I don't even think it's possible to set the World Tree on fire, not even if you dunked it into Mt. Huji." Somehow, instinctively, you know that isn't right; but now isn't the time to play a semantics game, either.

His jaw clenches. "I bet Mordegon could find a way."

" _Terran_. It's not going to happen. We're going to go up there, you're gonna get whatever it is that we need to get to beat him, and then you're gonna boot his sorry ass into next week. And I'm gonna help. We all are."

His face softens. "You don't know that that's how it's going to go."

"I do," you insist.

"How?"

"I have faith, dummy." You poke him square between the ribs. "In _you_."

Swallowing thickly, he asks, "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Your declaration doesn't seem to have put him much at ease, however. "Fat lot of good that'll do you."

"It's never failed me so far."

He looks at you like he's seeing you for the first time, or maybe the last time. "Always—always you have so much faith in me," he says softly. "I don't know what I ever did to deserve it."

You take his hand in yours. His fingers are cold, stiff. You bring his hand to your mouth and breathe a little heat onto it, then gently rub the life back into his fingers, for good measure.

"Easy," you say. "You said 'jump'."

The corner of his mouth twitches upward.

Your heart squeezes again, but this time, it's a sweeter ache, one you would happily lose yourself to, if only you could. 

Breath quickening, he leans forward, and you're pretty sure he's going to kiss you again, or that you're going to kiss him. Either way, there's going to be kissing involved, and the possibility of it thrills you more than you can even comprehend.

You suppose there are worse places to kiss in, and worse times; there are also better places and better times; but this is the place and the time that you have found yourself in with Terran, and you wouldn't trade it for the world. Not ever.

His lips brush yours.

The door clangs open.

"Oi, Terran, you in here?" calls Veronica. When she spots you, her tiny mouth curls into a lemon-sour pucker. "Seriously, you two? You're in a _church_."

"This had better be important," you growl as Terran buries his head in your shoulder, snickering. You could throttle her right now, you really could.

She jabs her hands on her hips. "Oh, sorry to interrupt your all-important _necking_ ," she says imperiously. "I should have known better than to barge into our town's _holiest_ sanctuary unannounced, lest you two perverts be indisposed. How very inconsiderate of _me_."

"Maybe you could wear a bell," suggests Terran, smiling at last.

"Good idea," you say. "I think the cat suit had one."

Veronica makes a frustrated noise that's too big for her body, then turns back toward the open door. "You two are _so_ annoying," she grumble. "When you're done being gross, come meet me outside. We have to see a man about some kale."

***

After that, you stay close to Terran, sticking to him like a barnacle as he putters about town and completes his preparations for the ascent to the World Tree. You're not much in the mood for kissing anymore, however. Your conversation in the cathedral has shaken you more than you want to let on; so for once, you're simply content to let the Elders blather on about how marvelous Terran is. He could use the puffing up, you think. You both could.

You would travel to the end of Erdrea with Terran, _for_ Terran. But… what if you actually had to? Go to the end of Erdrea, that is. What if that's been your final destination all this time?

It's a thought you've never seriously entertained before; truth be told, it's never even crossed your mind. Walking beside Terran, you've always felt invincible, like you could handle anything or anyone that might try to stand in your way.

But now you can't get that painting of the burning Yggdrasil out of your mind. It's almost like you've seen it before, or dreamed about it, or something. Every time you close your eyes, it haunts you, an echo of some elusive past that isn't even yours, dammit. It isn't even yours.

***

Eventually, Terran finishes his preparations, and the seven of you set off, making your way through the Arborian Highlands once more.

The second you leave Arboria, you feel like you can breathe again. All that nonsense about reincarnations and paintings slips away under the insistence of sunshine and crisp, clean mountain air.

The road to the First Forest is surprisingly well-trod for a path that supposedly nobody has walked in many centuries; you suspect generations of Arborian teenagers might have been sneaking back here to kiss and do more than kiss and maybe even drink beverages that aren't tea without their elders' knowing consent.

The path winds by more quickly than you expect, and eventually your party comes to a long, mossy bridge, suspended over an enormous span of—nothing, really. You can't see the bottom of the ravine through all the clouds, and you're not much inclined to take a closer look, either.

At the other end of the bridge are trees. Lots of trees. More trees than you've ever seen in one place before. Their twisted branches and canopies snarl into a wall of unimaginable _greenness_ , a color so vibrant, so perfect that it hurts your eyes to look at—sort of like staring into the sun, if the sun were dark, and old, and also terrifying.

The First Forest.

Gooseflesh prickles the backs of your arms and neck. Your steps slow, then stop altogether. As you inhale and exhale, the forest seems to breathe with you. Spooky.

Serena, meanwhile, hangs back with you. She clasps her hands together in delight and says, "Isn't it just _beautiful_?"

Next to her, Sylvando wipes a fat tear from his eye. "It sure is, honey."

At first, you're not so sure you agree. But you suppose beautiful things can be frightening, too.

"I guess," you mutter, watching as Terran leads Lulubelle toward the darkness and Rab and Veronica each take one of Jade's hands and escort her across the bridge. Both woman and horse look ready to bolt. You can't much blame them.

Serena doesn't seem to notice, however. "I can't believe, after all our adventures together, we've finally arrived at the First Forest. It feels like a dream come true, doesn't it?"

Your heart's beating like crazy again. Why does it keep doing that? "You sure seem like you're enjoying yourself." 

"Why, of course!" The corner of her eyes crinkle. "It has always been Veronica's and my destiny to deliver the Luminary unto Yggdrasil. It's terribly exciting to know that that destiny shall soon be coming to its end."

"You make it sound so final," you chuckle uneasily. "I mean, we've still got to beat Mordegon and all."

"That does still need doing, I suppose."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "You suppose?"

"Father Benedictus always said that we were meant to guide the Luminary to Yggdrasil; he never mentioned anything about what came afterward. Although," her brow furrows, "If it were up to me, I should pledge Terran my continued aid this very minute. I couldn't bear to leave things half-done. I should have to consult with Veronica first, however."

"You do you, I guess." You shrug with as much nonchalance as you can muster. "I might not have a magic destiny like you, but I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving Terran, not until the Lord of Shadows is defeated."

_Or ever,_ you think but do not say.

"Of course, honey," says Sylv. "Nobody expects anything less of _you_."

Before you can decide whether or not you're annoyed by Sylv's tone, Serena says thoughtfully, "I do wonder about that."

"About us beating the Lord of Shadows?" You smirk. "Just let him try to stop us, heh."

"No, no. Not that," she says, shaking her head. "Erik, you are aware that Veronica and I are together the reincarnation of Serenica, correct?"

Oh no. Not _this_ again.

"How could I forget," you mutter.

She starts to shuffle forward, her feet moving as if by their own accord, carrying her toward the First Forest and to her destiny. "I've always wondered: Why did Serenica split her soul into two bodies? Why not just reincarnate herself into one person? Why involve me in it at all?"

"Because—" You trail off as you realize you don't have an answer.

"That's a good question, honey." Sylv brings a forefinger to his lips, thinking. "Perhaps she wanted a playmate? Someone to have tea parties with, or to brush all the little tangles out of her hair? Maybe she just felt lonel—" His eyes widen. " _Oh_."

Serena nods. "Precisely."

The two of them trade a meaningful look, and once again you feel like you're on the outside of a joke. It's been happening too much lately, and frankly, you're sick of it. "Whatever's going on in that head of yours, Serena, just spit it out already," you grumble.

"What if," she says, "Serenica wasn't the only one?"

"Huh?" You frown. "You're saying, more Heroes might have reincarnated?"

"That—and…Well…" You can't make out her expression; knowing Serena, it could mean a thousand things, or nothing at all. "What if Serenica wasn't the only Hero to reincarnate into halves?" 

Understanding slowly dawns on you.

Your mouth falls open.

"N—no way." You shake your head firmly to dismiss the very idea. "Nuh-uh. Not a chance. That would be, that would be," you fumble around for the appropriate words, " _too_ crazy."

"Would it be, darling?" says Sylv. You really, _really_ don't care for the contemplative way he's looking at you right now, like he's seeing you in a whole new light.

"Yes," you say firmly. "It would be."

"It's just an idle thought, nothing more," clarifies Serena. "Only, I can't shake the feeling that perhaps you do have a magic destiny of your own, Erik. That you were meant to find the Luminary, just as much as Veronica and I were."

You cross your arms over your chest. If only it were that easy to corral your galloping heart. Right now, every nerve in your body is firing at once, screaming at you to run, run, _run._

"But it wasn't like that," you lie. "You and Veronica set out to find him. Me and Terran, we just happened to be in the dungeon cells next to each other. It was complete happenstance—"

_Not entirely,_ whispers the Seer's voice in the back of your mind.

"And anyway," you continue pointedly, "even if it wasn't, that doesn't mean I'm some stupid dead Hero. You know me. I'm a thief. I'm—" You swallow. "I'm _me_."

"Of course you are," says Serena lightly. "Just as I am me, and Veronica is Veronica. And Terran is Terran."

Scrunching up your mouth, you turn your head toward the riot of clouds swirling beneath your feet. You want to say something else, something to shut this down, but you can't stop chewing over her words, no matter how hard you try.

You've always wondered why the Seer handpicked you, of all the thieves in all the world, to be the one to wake up next to Terran's cell; why _you_ were the one chosen to become the Luminary's first and, if you do say so yourself, closest companion. After all, Terran's special in a thousand different ways: He's a lost prince, he's Cobblestone's sole survivor, he can talk to plants, he's a hero, he's the _Luminary._ You? You're not special at all. You're just some dumb kid from the ass-end of nowhere who was too stubborn to die.

Anybody else could have found themselves in that dungeon. Anybody else could have broken Terran out. Anybody else could have leapt off that cliff with him. 

But it wasn't anybody else.

It was you.

Whoever you are.

No. _No._ You are you. And Terran is Terran. And dead people should stay dead, and quit harassing all the people back on Erdrea who are just trying to live their lives, dammit.

Turning to Sylv, who is staring off into the distance, you ask, "Well, what do you think, Sylv?"

He startles visibly. "Hmm?"

"You buying any of this destiny mumbo-jumbo?"

"Oh please, honey." He waves a hand at you. "I don't believe in destiny."

Serena brings her hands to her mouth, scandalized. "But Mr. Sylvando! How can you say that? After all we've seen, after all we've done? Not to mention that you travel with the reincarnations of not one, but _two_ legendary Heroes!"

"Reincarnation isn't the same as destiny, darling. Even if it were, well, Erik and I, we're nobody's understudies." He winks at you. "We're leading men. We make our _own_ destinies."

You nod, oddly grateful. "Yeah. What he said."

"For example, darling, I have made it my destiny to spread smiles across all of Erdrea. And Erik…" Sylv's smile turns hawkish. "Well, he's chosen the same, only for a smaller audience. An audience of one."

"Aw, come on _._ Not you too," you protest, throwing up your hands. Secretly, though, you're glad that Sylv apparently only wants to rib you rather than filling you with more existential angst, _thanks_ Serena. "Alright. Get it out of your system. Everybody else has."

To your surprise, though, Sylv doesn't laugh.

"Oh honey, I don't tease," he says gently, kindly. "There's no greater destiny a man could choose than to make someone special smile."

Your cheeks burn. "O-Oh."

"Oi! Lollygaggers!" Veronica shouts back at you. "What are you even _doing_ back there, building a museum? We're _here_ to see the Heart of Yggdrasil, in case you've forgotten. Hurry it up!"

***

It's slow going in the First Forest. The woods are deep and tangled, infested with rabid creatures the likes of which you've never seen. There's no trail to speak of either, just shadowy spots where trees haven't yet figured out how to grow. Between all the fighting and vine-hacking, it takes you days to make much headway.

By the time the tree canopy thins, it feels like you haven't seen sunlight in years. You're more than a little relieved when Rab damn near collapses on the trail and Terran calls for an early camp.

The others work on dinner and pitching the tent, while you get the fire roaring. Once Rab is settled before it with a mug of tea, you finally look around and notice that one of your party has gone missing.

"Anybody seen Terran?" you ask.

Around the campsite, five tired faces exchange glances and shrugs. They don't seem particularly concerned, which is crazy, because you're almost to the Altar, and why else are any of you here, anyway?

"He's around somewhere, I'm sure," says Jade, who hands Serena her own mug of tea.

"He said something about feeling stinky-poo, so he went back to the river to freshen up," says Sylv. He waves a hand in front of his nose, then gives you a pointed look.

You frown. "On his own?"

Sylv shrugs.

"But this forest is dangerous."

Rab blows across his mug, a curl of steam disappearing into his mustache. "Aye, but he's got his sword an' his wee lightning trick. He'll be fine."

"Not two hours ago, Terran stepped on a sleeping dragon's tail and almost got eaten," you remind him.

"But he didn't," counters Rab.

"But—"

"An' he _won't_."

"Ughhh, will you pipe down already?" Veronica gives you a vicious look over her own mug. "The Luminary is perfectly capable of taking care of _himself_. But if you're so _worried_ about him, why don't you go down and check on him?"

You glare at her.

She glares back, unimpressed.

"Fine," you say. "Maybe I will."

"Whatever." One hand comes up to massage her temple. "Just go do it already and _shut_ up about it."

Without another word, you stomp away from camp. As you leave, you swear you hear Veronica say something else—" _finally_ " or something like that—but you're not about to go back and check, not when Terran is out there all alone without anybody to watch his back.

You backtrack through the forest, trying to think at which river he might have ended up, as there are dozens of them. You listen for rustling behind trees; you check behind fallen logs and small copses. You even check out that small cave system you found meandering through the rock, and nearly get your head taken off by an infestation of succubats in the endeavor.

Eventually the caves open up on a cliff about ten or twelve feet high, one that overlooks a small lagoon, into which cascade a cluster of streams. It's not quiet here, not with all the waterfalls, but it is peaceful; the vicious creatures that have plagued your journey thus far appear to have given this secluded place a wide berth.

On the bank down below, there's boots and a pile of clothing next to a sword. In the water, you spot movement and a flash of pale skin.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

You've found Terran.

Then, as you realize what he's doing, your breath catches in your lungs. 

You've found Terran—bathing _._

_Naked_.

Well, of course he's naked, you remind yourself. People don't bathe with their clothes on.

For your sake, however, you wish he would. As on edge as you have been for the past week or two, you're not sure you can handle all that skin and muscle and _skin._

Swallowing hard, you turn back toward the cave. Now that you've found Terran, you can rest easy. You should return to camp and help finish setting up for the night. Jade has probably even poured you a cup of tea already. It's probably getting cold right now.

You try to force your feet to move.

Weirdly, they seem to have forgotten how. 

You chance a look back. Terran's under one of the smaller cascades now, tipping his hair back under the clear water. Rivulets course down his cheeks. His biceps. His ribs. His—

You shut your eyes before your gaze dips any lower. Behind your eyelids, however, you can still see the Drasilian pendant sparkling on his chest, shining to you like a beacon across a clouded sea.

This is ridiculous. You've seen Terran naked before, plenty of times. You've only traveled together for the better part of a year; how could you not? This is just another one of those times. There's nothing remarkable about it, or him. Just a guy washing himself in the woods. Alone.

Alone and beautiful.

_Get a grip,_ you tell yourself. _Walk away._

You do neither.

_Walk away,_ you order again.

It's no good. You're rooted to the spot.

You take a deep breath.

Well, you suppose, as long as you're here—maybe just _one_ more look. To make sure he's truly safe. One more look won't hurt anything, will it? 

You crack open an eye.

And your mouth falls open.

Sweet Yggdrasil, Terran's such a farm boy, you think as your gaze restlessly caresses the hard-packed planes of his body. Every bone and muscle was made for and by lifting heavy things: He has hay-bale shoulders and saddle-worn thighs and fingers like scythes to the harvest.

No wonder he carries a greatsword with such ease. He could carry the whole world if he were asked to.

And he was.

But he shouldn't have been. This burden shouldn't have been his. Because Terran's not a fighter, not like you. He was made for kindness, for beauty. For sustenance. He was made for love.

That's what's running through your mind as you stand there, your chest aching with sweet hollowness, every beat of your heart pounding the same refrain: for love, and love, and _love._

Terran's scrubbing himself now, sort of. One hand slides down his chest, his stomach. It dips lower, and lower. Then it stays there.

His hand begins to move.

Your breath catches somewhere between your lungs and your lips as you come to the realization that he's not washing himself… not precisely, anyway.

You should leave now. Oh, sweet and merciful Yggdrasil; you really, _really_ should leave now. Or turn your head. Or close your eyes. Or something. Anything. Anything but do what you're actually doing, which is nothing—no, which is worse than nothing— _watching._

You should…

…you should…

…but you can't. Yggdrasil help you, but you _can't_. It's the most captivating sight you've ever seen; _he's_ the most captivating sight. He's the siren, and you've lashed yourself to the mast, and one way or another, you're just going to have to keep on sailing through this, even if it kills you, which it very well might.

As he moves upon himself, the muscles of Terran's arm bunch and flex. It all seems so laughably exaggerated: all he's doing is a flick of the wrist, really; yet the act seems to require of him the same power and concentration he applies to his sword stance. It's absurd, but you're not laughing; you couldn't muster the effort, even if you tried.

When he tips his throat back, the waterfall swallows his moan, but you hear it anyway, a phantom that echoes across your skin and sets your nerves alight.

Love, it says, and love, and _love._

Groaning, you shift yourself in your trousers. A hero would look away right now, but that's not what you are. You're a thief, a blackguard, a scrappy little nothing who hides in the shadows and thrills on not getting caught. You've never pretended to be anything else.

Terran frowns. He couldn't possibly have heard you, not over all that water and not from such a distance, but he stops what he is doing anyway, and with his hand still wrapped around his cock, he looks up.

He sees you.

He doesn't flinch, nor does he seem particularly surprised by your presence. He just holds your gaze as steadily as he holds himself, refusing to let either go.

Involuntarily, you lick your lips.

"I—" Your voice is barely more than a strangled choke. You clear your throat and wonder what to say. Should you apologize? You're not sorry in the least, and he doesn't look particularly sorry, either. "I didn't mean to—"

He shakes his head. There's no shame in his expression, no worry or fear. It's almost as if he expected you. _This_.

Slowly, too slowly, his hand falls away.

He doesn't make to cover himself or even to hide under the surface of the water, however. He is entirely exposed to you, bared and wanting, and _oh Goddess,_ the mere sight of him jutting, _straining_ toward you is making your lungs forget how to take in air.

His mouth moves, but between the falling water and the blood rushing in your ears, you can't hear his words.

It doesn't matter, though. You know what he says. Of course you know. You're his partner, his missing piece. His other half. You know what he wants of you as clearly as if you'd said it yourself. Because you want it, too.

Holy hell, do you ever want it, too.

With slightly shaking hands, you unknot your sash. It falls to the ground, knives and all, its tattered ends fluttering prettily as they settle. Your too-big tunic hangs from your bony frame. Made from discarded sail cloth, the shirt catches the spray off the waterfalls and billows, as if it suddenly remembered what it used to be.

Terran does not look away.

He doesn't look away, not as you slip off your shoes, one by one. Not when you unlace your socks, shuck your breeches and your small clothes in one smooth go. Not even when you hook one finger under the laces of your tunic to slacken them, and let the collar slip off one shoulder.

However, his lips part, as if he might speak, or as if he were waiting for a breath that never came.

With a great swallow, a valiant, if futile, gasp for calm, you pull the tunic over your shoulders. You let it fall from your limp fingers.

Then you stand before him, thin and naked and wretched as the day you were born.

And he doesn't look away.

_And love_ , your heart beats. _And love._

His eyes rove over your shoulders, your chest, your stomach, lower, _lower,_ to your thatch of glacier-blue hair, and even lower than that. His breath comes to him in short gasps. Yours comes not at all. 

A shiver runs through you, but not from the cold. You know, without a shadow of a doubt, that if you get into that water with him—that's it. There's no turning back. You'll have to see this through, to the end of the road, wherever that might lead you, then maybe even beyond that, too.

If you get into this water right now, you'll be his, until the end of time. 

Your lips crook.

You take a deep breath.

Then in a burst of energy, you run—no, you _sprint_ —right to the edge of the rocks.

And you _jump._

The grove echoes with Terran's startled laughter as you curl your knees into a cannonball and splash down into the lagoon. Water cascades in all directions. Your naked butt collides with hard stone. It stings a little, but you can't care about that right now, because your choice—your destiny—whatever this is that you have just created for yourself—it thrills you, it _exhilarates_ you. You've changed, you know it now. You've become.

Keeping your head under the water, you orient yourself toward the loudest splashing and, with just a few swift strokes, make your way to Terran's side.

You wait, and wait, and wait until your chest burns with the effort; and then you surface, shooting out of the water like a dolphin.

Terran cackles in surprise. He lunges for you. You dive out of his way easily, only to turn back and spit a hard jet of water at him. Still laughing, he grabs you by the hair and roughly dunks you back under the water. In response, you circle your arms at his waist and drag him under the water, too.

You both surface, sputtering for air.

Now you're laughing, and he's laughing, and you're so high up in the forest that surely the whole world can hear the two of you laughing, but who cares, because love, because _love,_ because—oh shit, now he's got you in a headlock, and you catch a great snort of water up your nose. Suddenly it's like you're drowning, which isn't nearly as much fun, so you sweep Terran's leg out from under him, and let's see how _he_ likes being a fish, huh?

Under the water, Terran wrestles with your calves, your thighs. He's a wriggly one, but you're wrigglier by far. You fist his hair so that he only succeeds in pulling himself up into your arms.

And then… Terran is in your arms.

Naked.

_Oh._

You hold each other like that, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, as each second turns into the next. His breath stutters; water drips into his eyes. And you think he's never been more lovely to you, or more precious.

Something about this itches at you; you could swear you've been here before, like this, with him—your body aches with memories that your mind can't quite reach.

Brushing the hair out of his eyes, you think, apropos of nothing: _I lorf you._

You kiss him.

Or he kisses you. It sort of all happens at once, really. Then it happens again, and again, and _again,_ until his mouth parts under yours and he welcomes you in, warm and wet and utterly delicious.

He kisses fiercely. He kisses slowly. He kisses like he's wanted this as badly as you have, and like everything in his life has built to this, and damn _,_ do you ever understand _that_ feeling.

Arms tightening around his back, you give what you get in equal measure. You'll never let him go. Not ever. Not ever, ever. You swear it to him with every sigh and moan, with every swipe of your tongue and lips and teeth: _I will never let you go._

Without breaking the kiss, he guides you back under the waterfall. The curtain of water closes behind you, shielding you from the outside world. A secret haven, a last bastion, just for the two of you.

Your hands begin to roam, as do his. You can't touch him enough; the more you feel of him, the more you want. You tug at his shoulders, his back. His nails dig into your flank. He'll leave a mark on you, you're sure. You can add it to all the other ones.

You sigh into his mouth. His hand dips lower, _lower,_ until you feel those strong, farmboy fingers running across your hips, sliding through the wiry hair at your belly.

His touch slows.

Hesitates.

Gasping, Terran breaks off the kiss.

There's a question in his eyes: _May I?_

You make a face. _You had fucking better._

You kiss him, and you kiss him, and then you stop kissing him as he takes you in hand, because the feel of his fingers on your cock is just so good, so _intense._

He doesn't touch you firmly, as he'd touched himself. Instead he slides across your length with slow, teasing strokes, testing. Savoring. Fascinated, he watches his handiwork, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You try lift your head and kiss that precious lip, but you can barely move. Everything feels so _good_. So _right._ Your head thunks against the rock. At the impact, you half-laugh, half-groan. The world, your soul, is suspended on a knife-edge, and Terran's the one holding the hilt. So to speak.

Lost in sensation, you weirdly think of this one time when you were a kid and you were on a supply ship that got caught in a bad thunderstorm, and when you came up on deck, the whole world above and below you looked like night; and just when you'd started to get _really_ scared, the masts began to glow unaccountably with this bright, blue, miraculous lightning. _Spirit candles,_ the Vikings had called them: Lights that flickered awake in the darkness to give lost sailors hope.

That's how you feel right now: like Terran is a flame licking up the mast, or maybe you're the flame, or maybe you both are, or maybe nothing is, whatever, you just don't want to him to stop touching you, not ever.

With every stroke, the head of your cock comes to nestle in his palm, and you want to die, you want to live, you want, you _want_. Against your hungry, parted lips, you feel him grin. Yours, yours. He is _yours_.

With one hand, you cradle his jaw; then with the other, you dip your hand between you to take him in hand, too. He moans softly as your hand slides along his wet length.

He's hard, ready for this. Ready for _you_.

Your heart beats, and beats, and beats.

Holding up one finger, he breaks off the kiss. You're about to complain, until he reaches behind you to a natural shelf in the rock face, where you notice for the first time that he's placed a few bottles of… something. Some sort of soap or lotion or oil or who even cares, because now he's rubbing it on your dick, and then on his, and now together, and it's cool and it's slippery and oh, that is _nice_ ; so very, very _nice_.

You speed up a little. His grip becomes more insistent, and your chin tips to the sky. It feels incredible to have him stroke you, strong and sure; you've never felt safer than here and now, falling apart in his touch.

You hitch one leg up around his thigh. Mostly to give better access, since he's taller than you; but also because you want to feel his hips bracing into yours, the weight of him pressing you securely against the rock. And now your cocks and hands are trapped between your bellies, as hard stone digs into your back, and you remember him pressing you like this against the tree in Dundrasil, but this is way better, so much better than you ever could have dreamed it might be back then.

With one hand he reaches around. Tentatively, he palms your ass, his fingers dipping ever so slightly into the crease of your backside, brushing places that you never expected fingers to brush, and _holy hell_ is that ever a feeling you'll want to chase later.

But it will probably have to wait for another time, because you're close now, closer to the edge, closer to _him—_ closer than you've ever been to happiness. He strokes you and he strokes you; and in your fist, his dick is like rock, and it slides against your belly like a ballast holding the two of you aloft.

Burying his head into your shoulder, he moans, wordlessly, helplessly.

You kiss his temple, as if to say: _Go ahead. I've got your back._

Then his hips buck wildly, and he lets out this noise that's halfway between a scream and a shout, like he's coming undone, like you've destroyed him, and _fuck_ , that's all it takes: Your climax hits you like a lightning strike, sudden and electric, sizzling your very bones. You growl and gasp and sigh and come undone.

You cling to him, panting for breath, willing your heart to resume a normal pace. But the beats stay the same, rapidfire and strong: _And love, and love, and love._

After a moment, you try to laugh. It comes out as a growly sort of moan instead.

With his head still on your shoulder, Terran places one hand to the scar over your heart. It feels like he's reaching out for something. Whatever it is, you hope he's found it.

You thread your fingers through his wet hair.

"Ow," he mutters, gently pulling back.

"Sorry," you chuckle, disentangling your fingers from the rat's nest his hair has become. "You got a little tangled there."

His mouth quirks. "Worth it."

"Yeah." You sigh. "Yeah, it was."

He runs his hand over your chest like he's smoothing out an unread map. "I liked that."

You grin. "Me too."

"We gotta do that again some time."

You laugh. "Yeah, I'm game for it."

The way he's looking at you, like nothing else matters, like you are the sun, the moon, the stars—like he is reaching out to you, fingers outstretched, still and silent and perfect—and suddenly you feel a guilty pang in your chest.

Your breath hitches. You wait for the impulse to run to hit you.

But it doesn't come.

"Hey, Terran?"

"Yeah?"

"I know this is kind of, um, weird timing," you chuckle softly, "But after all this, after we get whatever it is we're gonna get up there, after we save the world," you swallow, "there's something I kind of want your help on."

"What is it?"

"I—" You open your mouth, then close it again. "I can't really say—I mean, I want to. But I can't."

He frowns. "Oh. Um. Okay."

"Anyway, it can wait," you say, and you hate yourself for saying it, but it's true, Mia isn't going anywhere, and you hate yourself for thinking that, too. "Step one, save the world. Step two, everything else."

He grins at you. "And step zero: Get handsy with my best friend."

"Yeah. Well." You grin back. "Gotta get in the right frame of mind, you know?"

"Maybe," he smirks saucily, "We should try step zero again."

"Seriously?" Impossibly, though, you feel your dick twitch in interest. "What, you didn't get enough of me the first go-around?"

"How could I ever get enough of you," he asks, but it isn't a question, not with the way he's already starting to nibble at your neck.

"Alright, then. Anything you want." You gasp as he hits a sensitive spot. "Anything for you."

You kiss him.

You don't deserve this, you know. You don't deserve to feel this good, when so many people do not; when Mordegon is out there threatening to break the world and when Terran's hometown is a smoking crater and when your sister is still a statue. _You don't deserve this._

But as true as that is, there was something inevitable about this moment, too. Like, even if you don't deserve it, you're not sure there was a damn thing you could have done to stop it. Like it was fate, or something.

You might have been destined to find Terran, or you might not have been; you don't really care anymore. Because what matters is that from now on, you will find him again and again, every day of your life, because you are a lodestone and he is your true north, because he is yours and you are his, because love, and love, and _love._

***

The next morning, you head up to Yggdrasil. You stand on a platform and raise up six orbs. You follow a rainbow road to the Heart of Yggdrasil, where all your hopes and dreams will come true.

As you watch Terran raise up the orbs, heart swelling with everything you never thought it could feel, you allow yourself to acknowledge for the first time that maybe, just maybe, you might have some eensy, weensy magic destiny, after all.

How does this end? You don't know. You don't want to know. You just hope that it never does.

You step into a grove filled with warm, green light.

Terran shyly meets your eye.

You smile. 

"I believe in you," you mouth to him silently. "Partner."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go out to my first readers, anytaintedcreature and Claranon, whose endless support and enthusiasm continue to give me motivation and also life. You are the wind beneath my wings; you are the gluten-free cookies fresh from the oven; you are, simply, the best.
> 
> Also, thank you to all the Soldiers of Smile. This fic, this SERIES, wouldn't exist if it weren't for the comments and sprints and support. You're all so lovely. Truly, it's a community that lives up to the name.


End file.
